


A drinking contest

by Xobit



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xobit/pseuds/Xobit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron decides to spice up his battles with his sworn enemy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A drinking contest

**Author's Note:**

> A Birthday gift for the DA artist Murr-Miay <3
> 
> Drink responsably everyone! We're not as lucky as the Primes...

”A drinking contest?” it was possible to imaged Optimus Prime’s expression behind his mask from the tone alone. Not that everyone else on the battle field did not wear the same open mouthed expression of confused shock. Well, all but Megatron, who had issued the challenge, and Soundwave, who never seemed to be fazed by anything. 

It was actually wrong to call the random patch of earth a battle field, since not one shot or blow had been exchanged. Seemingly the only reason for the entirety of the Decepticon and Autobot army to be there was so that Megatron could deliver his baffling challenge. 

“I did not think you would find that so terribly upsetting, are you afraid you won’t be able to outlast me?” the smirk was as obvious in tone as it was on the scarred silver dermas. 

And he was frighteningly right about his assessment. Optimus had not imbibed since well before accepting the Matrix of leadership. Unfortunately he could not back down from the challenge. 

“And what will the prize be?” 

“Hmm… a vorn’s worth of energon,” the smirk was gone and cool professionalism was back in place. Leadership… 

“Half a vorn,” negotiation was something familiar, thank Primus.

“Done, these coordinates, two observers from your side and two from mine,” and then Megatron left, with his own baffled army in tow, leaving Optimus at a loss for the second time in a space of a breem.

That had seemed… too easy?

* * *

Inside the abandoned human hangar was a table, two chairs and a small mountain of high grade carafes. Not earth made, and bearing seals he did not know. Optimus felt less and less confident, and his confidence had already been near nonexistent. 

Megatron was already seated, one of the two chalices balanced in his hand, fine stem between his fingers. Crystal… also Cybertronian in origin. 

What in the Pit was going on?

“Megatron,” as per tradition he took his seat in front of the other, not acknowledging Soundwave or Thundercracker. Megatron nodded in greeting, taking the single carafe on the table as he ignored Jazz and Ironhide’s presence. 

“Prime,” both chalices were filled and Optimus lifted his own with a nearly nauseating sense of dread. 

It turned out to be a smooth, hot energon. Not particularly strong but very flavorful, he was surprised and somewhat relived. The first carafe was empty soon enough and the next one was opened, then the next… never the same, always good. 

“Enjoying yourself, Prime?” there was no slur in the raspy voice, but the tone was almost lazy, relaxed. Megatron had never sounded quite like that before, almost… almost normal. Almost like they were friends and not enemies in the middle of a battle. 

Of sorts. 

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” and it was true, if not for the four observers and the under laying awkwardness of the situation, it was nice. Almost like in the old orn, before he accepted the Matrix and he was just Orion Pax the archivist out for a dark cycle with friends.

Quiet descended again and more carafes were emptied. Optimus shifted in his chair, wondering why he was not feeling anything… He remembered how it felt to be drunk, the tingling sensation of hyper active sensors, the heat that suffused one’s chassis… the eventual loss of control. 

“You are unusually quiet, Prime, normally you would have started preaching the moment we sat down,” still so relaxed, so _pleased_. 

So different.

“I still don’t understand the reason for this… competition,” he was still so confused, even if the utter shock had worn off. 

“You never asked what I would pay with if I lost,” the chalice was emptied and put down, black hand reaching for a new carafe of high grade. 

“I assumed you were assured of your victory,” ‘I completely forgot, but I am not going to tell you that’. Optimus was not about to say out loud what must have been abundantly clear even with his mask in place. What was probably abundantly clear now, considering his mask was retracted to allow him to drink… it made him feel slightly exposed. 

“Not like you to assume… not like you to keep your battle mask down either. I am quite enjoying the view,” Optimus blinked, startled at the almost sultry statement. Embarrassed, though he only had the vaguest of an idea why he would feel that. 

“Ah… thank you, I suppose?” what else could he say?

“I am surprised at you, Prime, I took you for a more… honest mech than you seemingly are,” his wide optics flew from his half empty chalice to meet Megatron’s narrowed ones strait on. He’d never heard Megatron sound disappointed like that before. It almost felt like he was being scolded, and for a moment he felt like Orion again, being told off for not having managed a task he should have been able to manage. 

“I’m sorry, Megatron, what are you alluding to?” collecting himself he managed an answer, a stiltedly formal one, but still an answer. 

“High grade,” the pewter grey warlord wiggled his empty chalice even as he retrieved another carafe of high grade. 

Optimus stared, holding out his chalice on autopilot even as he must have looked like one big question sign. 

“When did you last drink, Prime?” a tilt of the grey helmet, suspicion in the red optics along with amusement. 

“Ah… well, that was long ago, before I became Prime,” he looked away, somehow feeling silly for admitting that, “I was never good at drinking and I figured I should make a good role model for the troops,” behind him Jazz made a spluttering noise, the first time any of the observers had done anything noticeable. It made him wince and cringe, spoken aloud it did sound a little… a lot silly. 

“So you really do not know,” it was a statement, not a question and Megatron seemed oddly pleased at the same time as he seemed annoyed. Quite as confusing as the rest of this was.

“You make very little sense, Megatron!” he tried to regain his footing with the snap, tried to gather anything that would help him stabilize. But the flash of anger was fake, he was too confused to really feel anything other than lost. 

“Primes are the leaders of culture, of society. They hosted parties, went to parties, rose with the sun, when Cybertron still had one, and recharge late after the fall of the dark cycle. But you never participated in any of that, did you? A war Prime, created on a whim when the last one fell,” Megatron seemed to be musing aloud. 

“Fell at your hand!” this time there was more heat in his words, real anger. That was something he could feel angry about, the death of Sentinel Prime… the reason he had been taken and reshaped against his will. Personal anger at how helpless he had felt, more than sorry for a Prime he hardly knew and had only heard little, and seldom good, about. 

“Yes, he did,” no denial just fact. Megatron had put his chalice down, and now put down the still closed carafe too. He seemed puzzled somehow, and more open than ever. 

“And you replaced him, flaunting the will of the council at every turn… it was rather fun to watch, really. They should have been more careful about choosing a vessel for Primus,” he had to be drunk, there was no other explanation for this. Except he had not been drunk when he suggested the contest.

“Where are you going with all this?” Optimus had put his own chalice down, now he crossed his arms and leaned back. Pressing his dermas together to express anger, when all he had was uncertainty. 

“Primes can’t get drunk, Optimus, the Matrix prevents it,” what? Optimus gaped at the other mech, completely nonplussed.

“I… but… that means you knew you would lose?” something that did not seem Megatron’s style at all. 

“Define loosing, Optimus… I wanted to know how much you really knew, which seems to be less than we have always thought,” a smirk followed the words and made him feel oddly exposed and young. 

It was true however… he knew very little of being a Prime. He had not listned to the council because he had known they were wrong. The Matrix had only given him what he needed to be a Prime in war. 

So he _was_ young and clueless!

“What was your point with this competition then?” because somehow, Primus damn it, he was going to get an answer out of the mech!

“My point was to catch you in lying,” the smirk turned into a grin and Megatron abruptly rose and rounded the table. Optimus was half out of his chair when he was pushed back into it, he heard and indignant ‘hay what ya thin’ ya doing?’ before his processors grinded to an abrupt, almost painful halt. 

Megatron was kissing him. 

Not pecking his cheek plating, not even just pecking his dermas. Kissing him, warm thin dermas sliding against his own, glossa half way down his intake, sharing the taste of the high grade they had been drinking… 

Why was he not fighting this?

mm… 

“Young and innocent, not at all what I thought,” dermas brushed his with every word and he couldn’t seem to make sense of anything, “perhaps we should continue this at another time? Without observers.” 

“Wha’?” it was more the fact that Megatron was pulling away than it was his words, but at least Optimus managed to get a word out… ish. 

“Two orn, here… bring your tactician, perhaps peace isn’t such a bad idea after all,” he watched dazedly as the pewter warlord left him, feeling every bit of the kiss where he had not felt anything from the high grade. 

What had just happened?


End file.
